


Unlucky –2.645751

by ienablu



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Date Rape, Drug Use, Gen, Homophobic Language, Non-Chronological
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-07
Updated: 2015-07-07
Packaged: 2018-04-08 00:38:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4284033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ienablu/pseuds/ienablu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was a time Scott Hansen thought he had the best older brother in the world. Then Herc chases a RABIT, a court martial is held, and Scott is dismissed from the PPDC. He gambles, a lot, but never plays Blackjack.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unlucky –2.645751

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this fic with Michael Fassbender in mind for Scott Hansen. If you cast Scott Hansen in a more flattering light, I don't think this fic is for you.
> 
> As the warnings say, there is a content/trigger warning for rape. It plays a large role in the story, and is fairly explicit. If you have any questions or concerns, _please_ feel free to [contact me](http://hayes-district.dreamwidth.org/300.html).
> 
> Huge thanks to saellys for looking this over for me.

During the three-year period from when Scott steps out into the ass-biting cold of Kodiak Island, to the time he is dismissed from the PPDC for egregious misconduct at age thirty-six, Scott doesn't spend a penny. He goes to restaurants and his meals are free, he goes to hotels and his rooms are free, he goes to bars and his drinks are free, he goes to parties and his pills are free.

The PPDC has the funds to give them funds, and money pours in from _Men’s Fitness_ and _Sports Illustrated_ and _GQ_ photoshoots. Scott finds an investor to invest his growing wealth, and he's sitting on a pretty penny when he finds himself booted out of the ‘dome and onto the sweltering sidewalk of the city.

Vegas is waning, due to Nevada being just a state away from California being just on the coast of the Pacific, and instead Scott goes to Atlantic City. It’s not the comfort of the Crown – his favored casino, where he was a guest of honor in the opening gala, where he spent free weekends, where he filmed his first sex tape – but it’s as close as he can get to being on the exact opposite side of the planet, and that’s good enough for him.

The circumstances of his dismissal are not made public, and so the women keep sidling up to Scott, as he gambles and gambles and his money grows and grows and grows.

He's trained body and mind to fight off three different behemoth monsters from Hell, counting card comes to him as easily as breathing. The casinos comp his room and meals and can’t stop him from raking in chips. 

He plays slots, Baccarat, roulette, every variation of poker.

Everything but fucking Blackjack.

*******

"What was it like, Drifting with your brother? What was your relationship like before, and how did it change after Drifting?"

"Herc 'n I have always gotten along great," Scott says, smiling. "He's four years older than I am, which meant he was always at the next school up for me. Smart kid, teachers all loved him, which made them a bit more likely to like me, which was great, because I needed all the help I could get." Scott smiles, and waits for the chuckles to die down. "But me and Herc, we’ve been close as long as I’ve been alive. Of course, there were memories that he didn't need to be able to tap into, the handful of times I lied to him, complaining to my friends about him, small things like that, but we've sorted it all out, our relationship is stronger than it's ever been. Drifting has really helped us, I think, grow even closer as brothers."

The audience _awwws_.

"You’ve lied to your brother?" the interviewer asks, feigning shock.

More chuckles.

"What can I say, I was a bit... looser with some things than he was," Scott says, with an easy grin. "Didn't want him to get too bad of an image of me too early."

*******

The first time their parents leaves them home alone together, Scott is four and Herc is eight. Herc is told to protect Scott and keep them both safe. Herc tells Scott to stay next to him. 

They never get into trouble, except for one time when Scott is nine years old and Herc is thirteen. Herc is in the kitchen, making pasta, and Scott is running around the house. Scott knocks over a vase. Herc doesn’t hear. Scott hides the broken shards of the vase, hoping his parents wouldn’t find out.

His parents find out as soon as they entered the house, and demanded to know who did it. Herc could never lie, not yet, and his expression when he turned to look at Scott said everything. Scott was grounded for the next three days, confined to his room for dinner time.

Herc takes him up his dinner, as well as bringing a plate for himself. They sit together on the edge of Scott’s bed. Herc’s toes graze the ground, Scott’s feet dangle. "It's alright that you broke the vase," Herc says. "Mum and Dad will get over it. I just wish you would have told me."

Scott stares down at his peas, face burning hot with shame.

"I'll help you, whenever you need it. Just tell me, and I'll do what I can to help."

*******

It takes Scott nearly thirty years to discover this is bullshit.

*******

Disciplinary hearings in the PPDC have no set structure, because there have been no disciplinary hearings.

Scott waits in the hallway, in his dress blues, hat crumpling in his hands as he taps his foot, trying to keep himself from pacing. Pacing is a nervous tic, and Scott has nothing to be nervous about. Herc's getting bent out of shape out of nothing, Scott is going to give him so much shit after this, they'll need to go through a few simulations before they can Drift well enough to fight kaiju, spar a few times before that, but they'll get through this.

The door to the hearing room opens, and Herc steps out.

Herc walks towards him.

Herc walks past him.

Herc walks away from him.

Scott’s pulse picks up. "Herc?”

Herc stops. He stays silent.

"What did you tell them?"

Herc looks over his shoulder, his gaze only meeting Scott's for a fraction of a second, before sliding away. "I'm not sorry," he tells the space past Scott's shoulder. He turns, squares his shoulders, and walks off.

"Herc," Scott calls after him, voice lowering. Herc doesn't stop walking. "Don't you turn your back on me," he yells. " _Herc!_ "

"Ranger Hansen."

Scott turns, and his hand flexes on his hat. "Marshal."

Pentecost doesn't look happy. "Come with me, Ranger Hansen."

Scott follows Pentecost into the hearing hall.

It’s the last time he’s called Ranger.

*******

Scott drinks.

A lot.

Scott drinks a lot normally, and Scott is sure as shit drinking a lot now.

News of his dismissal has not made it to the press yet (the PR team is going to have to spend a long while spinning a web of bullshit to make themselves not look like shit), and so Scott still gets his drinks free.

He’s got a babysitter somewhere in the bar, probably. Some cadet promoted up when he graduated from the Academy, passing marks – perhaps even stellar marks, top of his class, but since he never really connected with anyone, and he stayed an officer, never promoted to pilot.

Scott connected with Herc.

He thought he did.

The rejection burns.

Women approach him, and he turns them down, aware of his babysitter; he tells them that he's had a hard time lately, what with his poor dead sister-in-law's birthday coming up. It gets him sympathetic coos, and a few numbers tucked into his shirt pocket.

He leaves the bar, weaving down the street, and he takes them out of his pocket, crumples them up, and drops them on the street. His babysitter will pick them up.

*******

The first time Scott sees Herc after Herc fucking rat him out, Scott drop tackles him. "You asshole," he seethes, as soon as he regains his breath.

Herc's in shit shape, an old man past his prime (but still the one in the jaeger and how fucking unfair is that), and he's still wheezing at the impact.

"You're pathetic," Scott says, feeling sour as he gets to his feet. It's not worth it, this asshole's not worth it.

Herc gets up, slowly, and dusts his hands off on his pants. "The only thing I regret is that I didn't know to turn you in sooner."

"Oh, is that so?" Scott asks, as the anger cracks through him like a whip. His hands shake, and a sick satisfaction snakes through him. He doesn’t know his brother but he does know how to hurt him. Scott smiles. "Because my regret? That I'm the only one going down, after all the shit you've done that could get you–"

"I never–"

Scott sneers. "You don't think child negligence is a–" and Scott can't finish the sentence, the way the pain bursts through his nose, and blood floods his mouth. He takes a moment to blink the pain away, before he hits Herc back twice as hard, and then again they're on the floor, and this time Scott doesn't pull his punches.

"Herc, Scott," Pentecost barks from behind them.

Scott throws one more punch, before he gets to his feet, swaying. Herc is looking like shit beside him, as well he fucking should. Anger boils inside him, betrayal scrapes him raw, and he wants to ruin Herc, the way Herc ruined him.

*******

"Fuck, I think I'm bleeding," Scott slurs, as he looks down at his knuckles. They’re bloody. Bleeding? Whose blood is it? His? The fucker from bar?

"Keep walking," Herc says, tersely.

"Didn't hit the fucker that hard, did I?"

"You hit him pretty fucking hard."

There's a bite to Herc's words, and shame flushes through Scott, the way it always has when Herc raises his voice to him. "You're mad at me," he says, and it comes out sadder than he would have hoped. He fucking hates it, what the slightest recrimination from Herc can do to him.

Herc looks down at him, and his face changes. He's supporting a limping Scott with one arm, and he wipes at his face with his free arm. "You didn't need to hit him," Herc says, after a long minute.

"Yes I did."

"No, you didn't. You were hitting on his fiancé, you should have apologized, not shouted at him whatever you did."

Scott's stomach feels sour, as they finally settle down at a bus bench. He doesn't quite remember what he said, but he hasn’t reached his blackout threshold; next Drift, Herc will be able to rake the memories up. Herc is texting on his phone, and Scott knows that they have about three minutes before Stacker (and possibly Tamsin, if she can be dragged away from whatever pussy she's getting carpet burn from) arrives.

Scott scuffs his shoe on the sidewalk. "It's not like you haven't gotten into your own bar fights," he points out, unhappily. He’s whining, he knows, but sometimes it’s just so unfair that Herc is heralded as being _perfect_ while he’s always being blamed for everything. 

Herc sighs, again, and runs his hand over his face. "That's true," he allows. “I know I was a bit of a wild card in the RAAF. But things have changed. It's not just an anonymous bar, and I'm not just an anonymous cadet. We're in the PPDC, and we have a lot of eyes on us, and we've got big shoes to fill."

Scott snorts. "I think a jaeger can be considered more than that."

"We have to be on good behavior," Herc continues, a half-smile on his face.

“Does that mean I can’t yell at Stacker for turning you into a fag?”

“Oi,” Herc says, eyes narrowing. “Knock it off.”

Scott gives him a half-grin in reply. Herc knows he doesn't mean it when he makes fun of him for swinging for the other team now. It’s just brotherly shit.

Like what he’s going to be getting for the better part of the next week.

*******

Herc, as Responsible Older Brother, drinks less and less at parties the more and more Scott drinks.

Scott tried to explain how they were _copilots_ , they should be proportional to each other, not inverse. There were formulas and calculations in the back of his mind to prove it, too.

“Someone needs to keep an eye on you,” he’d said, as Scott heaved up tequila and ecstasy and pretzels onto the cracked asphalt of the alleyway.

“I can take care of myself,” Scott replied.

( _No you can’t_ , Herc thought; it was the deepest cut in the Drift.)

Scott finally has enough of it. Of being seen as the younger reckless brother, when Herc’s had his wild nights, taken his fair share of uppers, been a reckless son of a bitch. Stacker’s been stationed in Tokyo for two months, and there’s an upcoming simulation, and Scott doesn’t want to die from Herc’s blue balls and teetotaling. There’s a party, the Lucky crew is heading out, and Patty owes Scott a favor.

“C’mon, Herc,” Scott wheedles. “I want to see what it’s like doing E second hand. You get the fun aftermath through the Drift, now it’s my turn.”

“That’s not how it works.”

“I promise, I won’t take anything, I will stay sober, stay lucid.”

Herc frowns.

It takes half an hour of convincing, wheedling, cajoling, but Scott is very persuasive.

*******

Their first Drift simulation score, they get a 77.7%.

“Sevens are lucky,” Scott says. “Let’s go to Vegas.”

Together, they dominate the Blackjack table.

*******

Following Scott’s interview – one of the most popular, highest hits online – Herc is brought in for a joint interview.

It’s the same interviewer as last time. Scott wonders if she’s wearing the same magenta bra and panties combo as their last interview.

“I always looked up to him as a kid–”

“You certainly didn’t act like it,” Herc says, with a laugh. The audience laughs with him.

With a closer brother relationship, comes a higher degree of honesty. They can’t hide from each other’s minds.

Scott is a good enough actor that he grins.

(Herc apologizes after their next Drift.)

******* 

They’re in the Kwoon room, Scott strikes Herc’s hanbo so hard that it snaps, Herc starts going off on Scott to respect the equipment and Scott snaps, and they fall back into their yelling match. “Yeah, everything is my fault–”

“Jesus, Scott, you sound like you’re–”

“A child?”

“That’s not what I was going to say–”

“Yes it was.”

“Stop interrupting me, Scott–”

“What, and just let you keep yelling at me without having a chance to defend myself? Just let you keep piling all these stupid complaints as if everything’s my fault?”

“When you break your partner’s hanbo, that is–”

“Why didn’t you defend yourself better?”

“Stop interrupting me, Scott–”

“How about you find something new to yell at me for!”

“You want me to yell at you? How about all those comments about me and Stacker–”

“I was joking,” Scott yells. “You can’t take a joke?”

“It’s not a joke to me,” Herc yells back.

The air between them goes cold. 

Herc’s jaw works. “Never has been.”

Betrayal flares through Scott. “Why didn’t you fucking say something?”

Herc lets out a rough bark of a laugh. “I did, Scott. Why didn’t you fucking listen?”

Scott has no answer.

*******

These are Herc’s demons:

*******

“Hey, Uncle Scott.”

“Hey, kiddo, how you doing?”

Chuck frowns. It’s a common occurrence nowadays. He’s thirteen and going through his surly teenage phase. Scott has no idea where he gets it from – from what Scott remembers, Herc was never surly going through puberty, and Scott went more the argumentative route. 

“When’s the last time you left the ‘dome?” Scott asks. Chuck shrugs. “You wanna head out, get some lunch?”

“No.”

“Wanna get some lunch from the caf?”

“No.”

“Are you hungry?”

“No.”

As a kid, when Scott was going through his own contrary phase, Herc had joked that no was Scott’s favorite word. Herc’s solution was to ask open-ended questions. “What _do_ you want to do?”

Chuck shrugs.

“Well,” Scott says, “I’m going to visit Lucky, help my crew with the upkeep. You can come with me, if you want.”

Chuck shrugs again. “Okay, sure.”

“Okay,” Scott repeats, trying to appear as relieved as he is. “C’mon. You log enough hours, by the time you’ve finished with your growth spurts, I’ll see if I can get you a Lucky coverall.”

Chuck isn’t exactly enthusiastic, but he’s not being a little shit, and they work well together. Up until the point that Herc comes, and Chuck storms off.

“He likes you more than me,” Herc says, watching Chuck go.

Scott smiles. He’s not comfortable with kids. He swears and makes crass jokes and is generally told he’s a bad influence, a bad role model. He’s okay with it. But on the other side of the spectrum, having his nephew look up to him is pretty great.

Having to console his older brother, not so much. (Through the Drift and rough 90-proof nights, he’s shared the burden of Angie’s death. However, he’s just as lost on how to handle the aftermath, and he’s without the instinctual paternal intuition to guide him.) “He’s thirteen,” Scott says. “You’re his father. I’m his uncle. Of course I’m cooler than you.”

*******

Herc didn’t want a younger sibling, threw a temper tantrum when their parents told him.

He complained to his friends that Scott was clingy.

He wonders, _did I make the right choice?_  
 He would give anything to have Angie back. Almost anything? There are days he can’t fucking stand to be around Chuck. Their joint therapy appointments aren’t going well. If he had to make the choice again, Angie or Chuck, what would Herc do?

He doesn’t talk to Stacker about Luna because being an older brother is something Stacker would kill for. A day with Luna, an hour, a minute. (The first time Scott had to get his stomach pumped Herc was terrified; the second time, annoyed.)

He does feel guilt sometimes for his relationship with Stacker.

(If the choice was between Angie and Scott, what would Herc do?)

He has never taken Scott seriously.

*******

The worst of it is, Scott grew up thinking he and Herc were close.

Sure, they both had their own separate groups of friends, but they get along well.

Herc didn’t use to be such an asshole.

Scott wonders if Herc has just changed over the years. Scott wonders if _he’s_ just such an asshole that it’s bleeding into Herc. Scott wonders if he just never knew Herc well enough to see already was one. Scott wonders how the brother he grew up with, one room over from him and always sitting next to him at dinner, is a complete stranger.

*******

These are Scott’s:

*******

Her dress is bright red and skin tight and the zipper in the back is wide and sturdy and waiting. There’s an outline of a bra (no outline for panties) and Scott wants to know what color it is.

He’s a jaeger pilot and a rockstar, and he has perfected his approach a dozen lays back.

Her name is Angelita. She goes by Lita. She wants to be an actress. She always wanted a pet boa constrictor, and she laughs when he sets his hand on her knee and asks if she wants him to find her one. 

He’s half-hard already, and he knows he’s going to be balls deep in her by the end of the night. “Let me buy you a drink,” he says. 

She bites her lip. “What are you having?” she deflects.

“I’m not drinking,” he tells her.

“Designated driver?”

Scott laughs. “Something like that.”

Patty’s next to Herc, Patty will take care of him.

Scott can’t drink, but Lita can.

And does.

*******

Scott is fifteen when he takes his first drink; something hard from their father’s liquor cabinet, then his own bottle of it six months later.

He has had twelve girlfriends. He cheated on most of them.

He’s stolen money from his friends.

He told girls he was clean before he got the results varying him as such.

He hates invisible zippers on dresses, hates how easily they get caught.

He hates Herc for being perfect.

*******

After the first time Scott and Herc get into a shouting match after a Drift simulation – about Scott using Herc’s toothbrush, with all of their other issues riding shotgun –  the big wigs panic, and immediately seek to separate them. 

Scott is sent to join the Gage brothers, who are touring through the ‘domes for a reality TV show while Bruce recovers from a broken collarbone.

During some downtime, Scott talks to Trevin. He doesn’t know how to have this conversation, how to ask, and he really wishes he had a drink to help him out – while he doesn’t always remember what he does when drunk, the upside is that the those memories don’t come out in the Drift. He doesn’t want Herc to see this conversation.

(Does he?)

“We’re twins,” is all Trevin says, “it’s different.”

*******

After the second then third time, they don’t bother.

*******

Their annual recalibration comes, the the Drift is initiated, and immediately they’re returned to the bar.

A jaegerfly traces her nails across Herc’s forearm, tracing the lightning in his veins. 

It’s strange seeing Herc like this – pupils blown wide and a loose smile on his lips. He’s been getting boned by Stacker, but he hasn’t really had sex in years. He’s into her, she’s into him.

Scott gets a sick kick out of it.

Is this what it was like (for you, did Herc ever get off on watching Scott reach his hand up skirts at bars?) and is this what they were doing while Scott was with Angie–

The scene changes.

Bedroom located above the bar, bass thumping so loud he can barely hear her moans, his own grunts.

He’s fucking Angelita.

Her bright red dress is lying on the floor, a nude bra a foot away.

Her legs are spread wide.

In the mirror beyond the headboard, Scott sees Herc. It’s jarring, seeing him in full jaeger pilot suit. But this isn’t the first fuck Herc has rode shotgun on during the Drift, and Angie clenches around his dick, and it feels so good, Herc fades out.

“Don’t stop don’t stop don’t stop,” she murmurs.

“Don’t worry, Angie baby,” he whispers into her ear. He slaps her ass.

“Don’t stop don’t stop.”

“You like that?”

His skin crawls with Herc’s disapproval.

 _Don’t worry Herc, she likes it,_ Scott thinks.

She cries out as she comes.

Scott comes so hard he’s going to be feeling it for the next week, it’s been so long since –

disapproval disgust shame

Scott’s jarred again

_Scott what did you do_

Herc is furious

it felt so damn

Herc’s fury bleeds into Scott

“Herc? Scott–!”

–they drop out of alignment.

“We’re sending some jays up–”

They’re already wrenching out of their cradles.

“Herc, what the fuck–” Scott yells, pulling off his helmet.  
“Scott, what the fuck–” Herc yells, pulling off his helmet. 

Scott throws his helmet across the cockpit. “I have sex! What’s the big deal?”

“That wasn’t sex, that was rape!”

“Bullshit! She was begging for it!”

“She was drunk,” he roars. “She was begging you to _stop_!” Herc punches him in the mouth.

Scott stumbles back, lands on his ass. He spits blood as he yells, “What the fuck, Herc?”

He’s angry at himself, and he isn’t sure if it’s actually himself or Herc. Ghosting’s a bitch, and Scott’s fucking sick of how it always turns against him. They’ve done this half a dozen times now, and it always turns against him.

Herc is growing more and more visibly angry, his hands shaking.

“Fuck you,” Scott says. He pushes himself to his feet. “You wanna fight? You wanna fucking fight?”

“I can’t fucking look at you,” Herc says. He stalks off, the assembled crew stepping out of his way.

Scott’s face flushes with _disapprovaldisgustshame_. “You got something to say?” Scott spits at the crew. “You fucking got something to say?”

They don’t.

*******

When Sydney’s Shatterdome is in the process of being shut down, there’s a security breach.

Scott gets the call when he’s drunkenly throwing money away at a slot machine.

The next day, there’s an expose run on Scott – Scott Hansen, disgrace of Sydney. Dirty secret of the PPDC.

The manager of the casino politely informs Scott that they will not be able to comp his suite for the remainder of his stay.

Scott is also politely informed he’s not welcome in the private high-stakes poker games, but it doesn’t matter. Playing on the floor will take him longer, but he’ll still win enough to pay for his hotel for the remainder of his stay. Baccarat, roulette, every variation of poker.

Everything but fucking Blackjack.


End file.
